


It's better next to you

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Lambert needs hugs okay, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, vaguely fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Lambert's evolution of snuggles.
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 206





	It's better next to you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Eskel/Lambert fic and I went right for the Soft. Help.

Lambert would rather not have a crush on the man thirty years older than him with the hideous scars, thank you very much.

But Eskel is nice. Vesemir is… well, he reminds Lambert of his granddad—rough, a little unsure of how to handle children, very wise. And Geralt is like his big brother, only older and quieter and more likely to teach him how to throw daggers.

Eskel sneaks him sweets when he comes back, every winter. Eskel helps him with the book stuff, though Vesemir is the one who teaches him to read. Eskel gave him a toy, a stuffed lamb, and Lambert, who had never had a toy all his own, sneered and tossed it on his bed and pretended to forget. But that night he’d cuddled the lamb so hard and felt a little better. A little less alone.

Vesemir is a teacher, Geralt is a brother, but Eskel is a friend.

When Lambert has nightmares after the Trials, Eskel brings him down to the kitchen and gives him toast with honey, and talks with him about how the memories fade every year. No one forgets, but the very nature of the Trials and the mutagens mean that Witchers get harder, and the memories have less power.

Eskel looks sad every time he mentions that. Lambert is confused, but doesn’t say anything.

Of course, during the day, Lambert is as spiteful to him as he is to the others. But Eskel is confusing, so Lambert isn’t sure he means it as much.

Lambert is twenty when Vesemir deems him ready for the Path. He’s scared. He’ll admit that, in the quiet and dark of his room. He’s so scared. Kaer Morhen may be horrible and he may long to escape it, but he doesn’t want to go on the Path. He doesn’t want to be hated and feared and have to fight monsters for the rest of his life.

He can’t sleep. So he does what always helps, and gets up to sneak down to the kitchen and make himself some toast with honey.

He’s just finished making the toast when a tiny noise in the doorway makes him jump and whirl—but it’s only Eskel, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely.

“Can’t sleep?” the older Witcher asks softly.

Lambert hesitates, then shakes his head.

“May I join you?”

Lambert nods.

They don’t talk for a while. The toast helps. Lambert eats it slowly, trying to clear his head of everything except the bread and the honey and… and Eskel. Lambert’s senses are still so very sensitive, and he’s resigned himself to the realization that he’ll never be able to go anywhere without being able to smell and hear everything in a twenty-yard radius (Vesemir says it will expand with time), but he doesn’t know how he feels about the strange new smell in Eskel’s personal scent. He smells like horseradish and sweat and himself, but also… sad. He’s sad. His face is almost blank, but he smells like he’s sad.

“Hey.”

Eskel looks up at him, and Lambert realizes with a sinking stomach that he has it bad for Eskel. But he swallows hard and asks, his voice softer than he means it to be, “Were you scared?”

Eskel’s mouth twitches into a tiny smile that might be a grimace. “Yeah,” he replies, just as softly. “Geralt was, too. I think even Vesemir, though he’d rather be trampled by a fiend than admit it. It’s a scary life. No one is ever fully prepared.”

Lambert nods, and finishes his toast. He realizes Eskel has been done for a while. But he doesn’t stand up until Lambert does, and takes his plate.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” Eskel asks.

Lambert thinks about it, actually thinks. He feels better, knowing that he isn’t the only one; but he’s still too keyed up to sleep. So he shakes his head.

“I can sit up with you. We don’t have to talk.”

That sounds nice. Lambert is usually brimming with vitriol and sneers, but tonight he just can’t make himself angry. So he nods, and thinks Eskel’s soft smile is really nice.

They sit in Lambert’s bed, leaning back on the headboard. Eskel is just on the edge, one foot on the floor to brace himself, with his hands clasped in his lap. Lambert sits with his knees almost to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He’s nervous now, and not just because of the Path. It’s the first time anyone’s been in his room in five years, and it’s Eskel, and he’s _sitting on Lambert’s bed_.

Luckily, the toast and honey lingers on his tongue, and he’s always been good at making himself believe he’s physically comfortable, so he focuses on that, and soon he feels more tired than nervous. His head droops a little; his limbs relax slowly. Eskel reaches out and pulls him closer so Lambert’s head is on Eskel’s shoulder. It’s nice. Lambert closes his eyes and just lets himself relax.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because he wakes an hour after dawn nicely tucked in, with his toy lamb (now quite dirty and ragged) cradled close to his chest. And his pillow smells like horseradish.

~

His first year on the Path is full of trial and error and hatred for everything that put him into this life. He hates his parents. He hates Vesemir. He hates the mutagens and the Trials and the monsters and the fact that the first time he hires a prostitute she hits him over the head and steals his money.

He hides in the woods for a month after that, killing whatever monsters he comes across and ignoring any humans.

But he hears a cry for help, and something makes him run towards it, and before he knows it he’s killed a banshee and a terrified woodcutter is shoving a purse of silver at him.

So he returns to the Path, cursing the world at large with every step.

He’s glad when he finds himself on his way back to Kaer Morhen. He doesn’t really plan for it, but one morning he wakes up and realizes that he’s almost there. A few more days and he’ll be making the trek up the mountain.

He gathers as many supplies as he can, and hires a small cart for the winter in the village at the foot of the mountains, and finds that there are tracks already on the trail that are only a day old. He wonders who it is. If it’s Geralt, that will be bearable. If it’s Vesemir, that will be annoying. If it’s Eskel—

He’s startled to realize that he would like to see Eskel again.

So he starts up the trail, bribing his poor riding horse into being a carthorse just this once. Maybe, if it’s Eskel, they’ll meet on the trail. That would be nice.

Lambert is so very lonely, all of a sudden. He knows now why Geralt talks to Roach like she’s a person, and insists that she can understand. The Path is lonely. After years of thinking he’d love to be alone for once, he’s so lonely he’s angry.

He doesn’t meet anyone on the trail. But as he’s crossing the little bridge over the frozen stream, his horse quite tired and ready to bite him, someone steps into the opening of the gate and waves.

“Hey, Lambert!” Eskel calls. “I thought Geralt would be next.”

Lambert shakes his head. “He’s old and slow,” he replies. “I bet he won’t make it before next week.”

“Have respect for your elders,” Eskel chides, but he’s grinning. He smells—relieved? And then he digs in his pocket and brings out a peppermint sweet, the kind he used to give Lambert when he was a kid. Lambert is almost embarrassed by how fast he snatches it. He hasn’t had sweets in _months_.

Eskel doesn’t say anything, just pats his shoulder and pretends not to see when Lambert pops the sweet into his mouth. The peppermint is just harsh enough to hurt, and the sugar is just plentiful enough to be worth it.

Eskel and Lambert have the keep to themselves for a week, and Lambert is about to break and ask to sleep in Eskel’s room (it would be warmer, he tells himself severely, and that is _all_ ) when Geralt arrives, mouth tight, murder on his face. Eskel takes one look at Geralt and says to Lambert, “Can you start bringing his supplies in? I need to talk to him.”

Lambert scowls and grumbles, but does so, because Eskel asked. He wants to pry, but he’s still uncertain. It was his first year. He’s only just been deemed a full Witcher. Is he senior enough to make fun of Geralt?

When Lambert finishes putting things away and walks into the kitchen to get a drink, he’s almost blindsided by Geralt grabbing him and hugging him tightly for a second, before letting go and ruffling his hair, making Lambert yelp and snap, “Fuck off, asshole!”

“Told you he’d be fine,” Eskel says smugly from the table.

“Don’t rub it in,” Geralt replies, hooking his arm around Lambert’s neck and dragging him to the table.

That night, when Lambert is getting ready for bed and wondering at why Geralt was so—so _touchy_ , Eskel taps on his doorframe.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” Lambert grumbles, sitting on his bed to yank on a pair of socks. His feet are always cold now. The slow heartbeat makes for poor circulation, apparently.

Eskel walks over and stands a little bit away. When Lambert straightens, rubbing his neck (Geralt’s arms are _hard_ ), Eskel closes the distance to lean down and hug him.

“We’ve lost a lot of brothers,” Eskel says softly, before Lambert can yell at him. “We’re both glad you came back.”

Lambert doesn’t know what to say, so he just mutters, “You’re fucking stuck with me.”

“I, for one, am glad.” Eskel lets go and tugs Lambert’s ear, grinning as Lambert growls and swats at his arm. “Sleep well, Lambert.”

Lambert’s throat tightens, and by the time he’s worked up the courage to whisper, “You, too,” Eskel is long gone.

~

It’s been five years, and though he still growls and grumbles and loathes, Lambert had resigned himself to this life. In the second winter of his being a full Witcher, he loses any fear about his status as youngest wolf, and relentlessly pesters everyone, trying to get a rise out them. He wants—he wants someone to be angry. He wants to know he isn’t alone in being pissed off about this life. He wants relief.

Geralt smacks him a few times, but gently. Vesemir gives him The Look and Lambert shuts his mouth for a while. Eskel lets him snarl, then gets up and walks over and hugs him. Lambert wants to push him away, but then Eskel murmurs, “I’m sorry,” and all the fight goes out of him.

So the next three winters are grumbles and snipes, but a bit half-hearted, because he knows none of them actually care. They’re resigned to it, have made their peace. So Lambert withdraws a little, becomes quiet like them, and tired.

In the fifth winter, he comes back completely silent. He’s had exactly three contracts all year, and he feels like a failure for that. He’s done some damn horrible menial work just for a meal. And surely the others will hate him for it.

“I don’t understand,” Geralt mutters over dinner, the night Lambert comes back. “How can we only have gotten thirteen contracts among ourselves?”

“There’s a band of humans out monster-killing,” Eskel replies wearily. “They’re highly trained, alright, but they’re not Witchers. I bet they’ll be dead by spring.”

“Don’t underestimate human stupidity,” Vesemir answers severely. “If they’re still out in force next year, it’ll be because they’ve been having sheer dumb luck, and they might think Witchers aren’t needed. Be vigilant.”

The three younger wolves nod.

Lambert remains quiet, almost silent, for the whole winter. He’s not a failure this year, but what if he is the next? The night before he leaves, he cuddles his lamb tightly, but he still can’t sleep. He doesn’t think toast and honey will help anymore.

Fuck it. He’s wanted to ask for five winters; he might as well get it over with. He knows Geralt is more oven-like, but Geralt is also his brother, and Lambert doesn’t feel right asking him. Vesemir is the closest thing to a father he’s ever had and he’s not willing to be weak around him.

Lambert gets out of bed and leaves his room, not realizing that his lamb is tucked tightly under his elbow.

Eskel’s door is closed, but Lambert can hear movement. He knocks very softly, and is suddenly afraid. What if Eskel laughs? What if he says no, and then tells the others in the morning? What if he says _yes_ and tells the others? Lambert is about to turn and run back to his room when Eskel opens his door.

“Hey,” Eskel says softly.

Lambert doesn’t have any explanation planned. But he does blurt, “Warmer with two people.” That’s as close as he can get.

Eskel nods. “That’s true.” But he doesn’t move.

Lambert looks down at his feet. “Can...” He swallows hard, but doesn’t know how to actually _say_ what he wants—needs.

“Yeah.” Eskel takes hold of his arm, gently, and pulls him into the room.

There’s no sense of awkwardness, actually, sharing a bed with him. Lambert hopes they can sleep back-to-back, but this hope is destroyed by Eskel pulling him in close so his head is tucked under Eskel’s chin and there’s two firm, warm arms holding him like he’s a soft human, not an equally strong Witcher.

“This okay?” Eskel asks.

Lambert’s throat is tight, so he nods, and lets himself relax. It really is warmer with both of them under one blanket. He tentatively slides his arm over Eskel’s waist, and discovers that this is a good feeling. Holding and being held. Now why did he never know that before?

He falls asleep more easily after that.

~

And then every winter starts turning into ‘How many nights in Eskel’s room can he get away with’. He doesn’t want to do it too often, because he doesn’t want the other two to know what he’s doing; he keeps a shirt and pair of trousers aside for visiting Eskel, so his clothes won’t have the scent, and he gets very adept at sneaking them into the laundry pile when it’s his turn. He thinks that’s enough until one night Eskel murmurs, “Geralt asked why it smells like you in here. Do you want to tell him?”

Lambert is thirty-six and the idea of being mocked for being such a big baby that he needs to share a bed makes him go cold. He shakes his head vigorously and mutters, “I’ll… I’ll stop.”

“I’d miss you.”

The mutagens are supposed to make expressing emotions nearly impossible. But Lambert still blushes, just a little, and hides his face against Eskel’s collarbone. They don’t talk about it again.

The first time Lambert feels arousal for Eskel, he shuts it down immediately, terrified. He doesn’t want sex! He’s fine with cuddling! He shouldn’t even want that, but he’s indulged himself and it’s fine, he doesn’t want anything other than that!

Eskel notices, though. And he starts smelling sad when Lambert stops visiting at night, though he acts completely normal. It’s too much, after a week Lambert is back and snuggling him desperately, trying to get as much of Eskel’s presence as he can. Eskel returns the sentiment, and Lambert damn near whines at the realization that Eskel likes him back.

They meet on the Path when Lambert is forty-five, and have to share a room because the innkeeper refuses to let separately. That’s fine. They’ve slept in each other’s arms often enough.

But then they get drunk and Eskel has to haul Lambert to their room before he starts a fight, and once the door is safely closed and bolted, Lambert grabs Eskel’s face and kisses him, hard. He’s pleasantly surprised when Eskel kisses back, and then they’re tearing off each other’s clothes and Lambert is so horny he feels like he’s going to scream.

It’s good. It’s really good. Sharing a bed is never going to feel the same, but tonight, Lambert doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is being wrapped around Eskel and taking his cock like a champ.

They don’t sleep—Witchers rarely sleep on the road, after all—but they do talk. About what this means. About if they should tell the others or let them work it out. If they should do this again or go back to the way things were. Eskel lets Lambert make most of the decisions. They won’t tell, but they won’t really hide it. And Lambert doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t care that he’s supposed to see Eskel as his brother, he never has and he never will. He loves him.

The realization hits him right in the chest and leaves him breathless for a minute. Lambert loves Eskel so much.

Maybe Witchers have feelings after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [The room is empty except for us, the chairs, the table, and the light. I am wearing sunglasses. I slide a notepad over to you and a Bic pen.]
> 
> Comments?


End file.
